• Kelly Fitzpatrick
  • My blog post for "Cathy Kozak's From the Archives of the Saints - Saint Valentine - Ode...
My blog post for "Cathy Kozak's From the Archives of the Saints - Saint Valentine - Ode to the Boy Next Door"


Maybe I am crazy. But I used to be crazy in love.           


The first time I saw Him, the only man I was ever to marry, I was in my copper ’67 Mustang as it crept up the hill of Quincy Street in North East D.C. 


It was a muggy hot Washington day and both of my car windows were rolled down. I was wearing  a halter-top and my favorite cut-offs. My long red hair was pulled back off my damp face and i had stuck a bluejay feather I had found into one of the thin braids mixed in my hair. I had thrown off my flipflops so I could work the clutch pedal, the brake pedal and the gas pedal with my small bare feet. The sun hidden in the hazy sky melted the white vinyl seats hot and sticky against the back of my thighs.  The old houses along both sides of the street were run down and I knew some cool people who lived in them on this part of my street. My house was a couple of blocks further up. I was the only student in our huge house full of former college students, and I was in no hurry to get home to finish studying for a class.  One street over was full of abandoned lots left after the buildings there had been burnt down during the riots a decade earlier. On the radio, Neil Young's whine "Looking for a Heart of Gold...." suddenly turned into a Steppenwolf-motorized howl revving up to pound out in heartbeats,  " I. LIKE. TO. DREAM..."


I glanced over to the left - and saw Him. 


He was a beautiful, intense dark golden sight.  He was tall, very tall, way over six feet tall and powerful. Not just his full chest and his muscular tanned arms, which I could easily see because he was wearing an open button-down shirt with the arms ripped off. But His power radiated off of him with an intensity of spirit that I mistook for passion. He had long blonded hair, sun bleached, almost to his waist and a thick handlebar mustache , with high cheekbones, grey-blue slanted eyes under his glasses and a cleft in his strong,  square chin.  He was striding long-legged toward one of the huge old motorcycles crowded in the driveway, as I tried not to gawk, look stupid or drive into the curb.


He was a beautiful, beautiful man. I lost my breath. He had no awareness of his striking beauty, which made Him all the more magnetic to me. He was intent on the antique Norton motorcycle and his own thoughts, so he didn’t notice me.  But I noticed him and would never, ever forget.


 The night before, I had tried –again-  to break up with a sweet alcoholic boyfriend whose red Viking beard reached his belt buckle and whose drunken, heroic stories of biker brothers included mythic tales of this intense, tall man I just saw. I drove away, thinking how different my life could be if I ever was able to meet this giant god of a man.


Little did I know."


  For this Pillowbook Valentine, let's just look at the wonderful-arrow-to-the-heart beginning.....

Let's be friends

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